The Pitter Patter of Little Feet

It's bedtime and all is calm. Scrag has gone down in his cot with his bottle. Dash is in his room quietly playing cards. I am perched on the edge of Miss Fab's bed saying goodnight, when I hear the distinctive sound of Scrag's door opening.

Thinking it's his big brother going in to kiss him goodnight, I race up the hallway whispering furiously, "Dash, get out of Scrag's room... he's going to sleep...!"
Er, no. He isn't. He is standing in the hallway, in his fluffy turquoise sleepsuit looking very pleased with himself.
He has climbed out of his cot!

I'm stunned. Those cot sides are high! This cot has kept our last bub contained long past when the others were climbing out and moving into big-kid beds. (Thirteen months old, those other two monkeys climbed out of their cots). With this lovely cot (borrowed from Gail) I have been lulled into a false sense of security. My little one goes down easily. If he makes a protest, I can ignore him for a bit and he'll drop off to sleep after a bit of complaining or singing.

Surely those days can't be over already?
I have to hope maybe this was a fluke, right??

I pop him back in his cot, and flop onto the couch in the lounge to watch TV.
Creak. Pitter patter, pitter patter. The sound of little feet coming my way.

A be-dummied grin appears around the corner of the door. He is so proud of himself.
Back to the cot we go; flop back on the couch, turn up the TV...
Creak. Pitter patter, pitter patter. The sound of little feet coming my way.

This is getting a bit monotonous and I groan inwardly realising the shape of my evening to come...

How long can we play this game? All night it seems. He really doesn't want to go down in his cot.
OK a snuggle then. He lays in my arms and his eyelids droop. Righto, back to bed sonny boy.
Back to the cot we go; I flop back on the couch, turn up the TV...

Creak. Pitter patter, pitter patter. The sound of little feet coming my way.

Every time I return him to the cot there is a a great outcry. Miss Fab has successfully fallen to sleep, but poor Dash has his room right next door to the battle ground.
By now it's 8 o'clock. Now I have a big boy complaining as well as a little boy. Dash is lonely. He doesn't want to sleep by himself; he wants a snuggle...

A lightbulb goes off in my head.
"Want to sleep with Scrag??" I ask.
Oh yes! He has been waiting for this day since Scrag was born; the day he gets to share a room with his little brother. We rush to get blankets and pillows. The boys snuggle in together on the bottom bunk.
I return hopefully to the couch and the TV. All is quiet.
Then I hear whispering... and movement... Dash appears at the lounge door.
"Mum he's annoying me! he won't go to sleep!"
Sigh. Well it was a great plan, I thought.

I scoop up the little one and pop him in his cot. Sirens begin to wail, as a storm of tears bursts upon us...
"MUP! MUP!" he pleads. "Doh! Doh! Gucky bo'nighnighs! I'na Doh bed!" (Click here for a translation)
One last chance, I warn him. Go to sleep like a good boy.
The storm subsides as quickly as it began. The boys snuggle together in the bottom bunk; as I leave the room I hear Dash whisper to Scrag, "Now go to sleep Scrag, OK...?"

Silence.
I flop on the couch, and turn up the TV.
Peace reigns throughout the house as they finally drop off to the Land of Nod together. It's 9pm.

Later, daddy comes home and moves Dash up to the top bunk, but not before I snap a few pictures of my sleeping sons, nestled cosily together.

This morning the boys are full of plans. Dash is busy making up Scrag's bed with his Thomas quilt and pillow. He even makes his own bed...! As far as the boys are concerned, Scrag has now joined Dash in the big boys bunks. They are now sharing a room.

How long will it last? How long before the novelty wears off and Dash wishes for his own space again?

Who knows, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. But as I write this now, my baby is having a nap in his big boy bed. It's the end of an era.

A Salute to the World Cup

I love you New Zealand! I am proud of our boys in All White. Nobody rated them. People thought they didn't deserve to be in the World Cup at all. At best we hoped to not humiliate ourselves too badly.
After all New Zealand is a rugby nation... soccer is way down the list in the sporting codes... isn't it??

Not any more, I'd say!

Because today, our underestimated team put us on the World Football Map with a draw against defending champions, Italy, who are ranked fifth in the world (while NZ is ranked 75th or something).

A draw with Italy is like winning! Our boys played with heart, they put themselves out there and have totally surprised the whole world with this result.

Why am I blogging about the Soccer World Cup??

Because with their performance today, the All Whites have given this mama hope.

You see, my eldest son is bound and determined to be a professional football player.
"HA!" I hear you saying, "Him and 13 million other little boys..."

Yes, but something tells me that if anyone can do it, my kid can!
Do I need to remind you that we are talking about the kid who basically spoke his baby brother into existence??

Always always, my Dash has said, "I'm going to England when I grow up and I'm going to play for Newcastle United..." (Grandma! Contain your jubilation!)

When we were in Newcastle last year, he cried big deep sobs at the pain of having to leave; he couldn't wait to return. (Grandma! Stop jumping up and down on the spot in excitement!)

Last week he said, "Mum when I grow up will you come and live in England with me? Because I think i will miss you when I live there..."

I have resigned myself to the fact. My kid will go to live in England.
Something tells me that he really will do it. (Grandma! stop rubbing those hands together gleefully!)

And if asked, "Are you going to play for New Zealand when you grow up, Dash??" his reply would be "No, England; New Zealand are rubbish."

He couldn't see a future in professional football in New Zealand.

And until today, I had to agree.
But now. A draw with Italy at the World Cup??? A chance to actually make it out of the group round??
New Zealand soccer is no longer a joke!

So, thankyou All Whites! Thankyou Ryan Nelson and Shane Smeltz and Rory Fallon and the awesome Mark Paston! The Portugal team may have all the "talent"... but you guys have all the heart.

Now I can happily send my kid off to his daddy's country of England to play for Newcastle United knowing that at least he can return to represent my little country proudly on the world stage.

Photos from NZ Herald Article HERE

Beautiful

As I survey my cushiony butt, I wonder to myself what it would have been like to have lived back in the Renaissance days?

Oh they liked their curvy girls back then.
Look at those mounded bellies! Cheesecake thighs everywhere!!
I would have fit right in.

There would have been no moaning and groaning over the scales. No squeezing into muffin-top jeans. I would have been armed with corsets and long voluminous skirts. Famous painters would have asked me to pose for them, because my hippy figure would have been perfect for their next great masterpiece (of course I would have politely declined, because cavorting in the altogether is not my idea of a fun time, especially in those chilly uninsulated Renaissance mansions).

Remember studying those ancient artifacts at school for social studies? (fertility symbols of ancient cultures...?) Not a skinny chick among them. All boobs and butts, they were. Big round bellies. Curvy is Good has been the motto for thousands of years.

When did skinny become the be-all-and-end-all of beauty?
Pretty recently, I'm thinking.
Who decided that gaunt and stick-like is desirable?

Who says that curvy girls should spend our lives trying to get rid of our roundness, denying ourselves the pleasure of eating delicious food, wasting time counting calories, boring our men with constant talk of diets and weight loss, making ourselves miserable by obsessing over one of the most natural parts of life: eating (and passing on our dangerous obsessions to our daughters who watch our every move).

Why should we curvy girls sit on the sidelines and watch our children splash in the water without us, because we're too embarrassed of our thighs to brave a swimsuit and the stares of others?

So what if our butts look a mile wide on a bicycle seat! Who's really looking anyway?? Why shouldn't we just get over our self-consciousness and ride, feel the wind in our faces, join in the fun of free wheeling with our kids...

It's Henri over at Marketing to Milk who got me thinking on this one. In her post she talked about an old woman she met who is in her eighties and still obsessing about her weight. At eighty! That really got me thinking.

Am I going to waste time and energy being unhappy with what I've got to work with, or am I going to be realistic about the body I'm left with after three jumbo babies have grown out of me?

Am I going to spend the next 40 years foolishly trying to hold on to my youth, or am I going to grow old gracefully?

What is beautiful anyway? We can't trust our culture to tell us. The fashion changes so often - Marilyn Monroe was the height of sexy in the 50's. These days she would have been told: "Sorry you're overweight, come back when you more closely resemble a stick."

So forget the media. Forget the magazines, the Filmstars, and pleasing Tyra.

What is beauty that will last?
Know any older women who radiate joy? I do. Sure they have wrinkles and you might not see them on any magazine covers, but oh they sparkle.

What lines they have are carved on their faces by laughter and smiles. They know how to have fun and enjoy life. Plenty of tears have run down those cheeks, but coldness and hardness hasn't penetrated their souls. Their hearts radiate love, peace, acceptance and wisdom, not bitterness and regret. When you finish speaking with women like these, you come away feeling... blessed.

These are the truly beautiful women. This is true beauty. It's soul-deep. It's beauty that can be hugged, it draws you in. You find it hard to tear your eyes away.

This beauty doesn't fear growing old - because like fine wine, age only increases its value, and its depth.

Girls, let's celebrate, emulate and cultivate that kind of beauty.

To heck with our cellulite and wrinkles!

Live, love, laugh, dance and swim if you want to!!

It's our joy that keeps us young on the inside, no matter what the mirror says.

...........................

PS: Pictured above is one of my role models, Helen Monk, Pastor, Counselor, mother, grandmother and woman par-excellence. I love her beauty and gentle confidence; she has a radiance and warmth that is fascinating. I love her.

Who are your role models??

Photos from GoogleImages

Scrag Speak

I love listening to my little one learning to speak.
(That little one who right now is squawking in his cot, calling out "Muuummeeee!" and refusing to sleep!)

I thought I'd write down his cute little sayings so I don't forget them in years to come... and I'm sure grandma will enjoy reading them too. The rest of you, just nod and smile indulgently... yes, it's going to be one of those posts... a proud mama gushing over her cute offspring. (Come on, I can't be profound every day!!)

Scrag's Dictionary:

• dummygone: This is what Scrag calls his dummy (pacifier) - a dummygone. Probably because all he ever hears us saying is "Where's your dummy gone?"
• bo'nighnighs: This is used interchangeably for bed (nighnighs) and bottle (bo'). "I'na bo'nighnighs" could mean "I want a bottle" or "I want to go to bed. He is not saying either right at this moment; he is shouting; "Mummy, MUP!"
• mup: What he says for "up". Some confusion obviously arose from hearing us say, "do you want to come up...?" he heard cuh-mup; hence MUP.
• gucky: What he says for yucky. Usually attached to the word poo, as in guckypoo. He does plenty of those so this is a very popular word.
• Nono: How he says his own name (pronounced Nonno). It rhymes with the shortened version of his real name. Can you guess what that is??
• Me, mine, my turn: His favourite and most frequently used sayings; Often used in conjunction with a mischievous giggle and a snatch'n'run burglary of some sort.
• Doh: His name for Dash
• Wubby: His name for Miss Fab
• Choochoodain: Trains. He is mad over trains. We live close to a train line and he always stops when he hears the horn and then starts to act out "choochoochoochoo -toooot! Toooot!"
• Perpy: What he calls Percy from Thomas the Tank Engine. Perpy is Scrag's favourite engine.
• Jumpadee: Trampoline

This little guy and his attempts at language keep us laughing all day long, although he is a little too clever for his own good at times. For instance, he thinks he can put on his own DVDs. And has actually successfully done it a few times. Scary.

This morning I heard a little whistle blowing repeatedly (and annoyingly) somewhere in the house. Who's blowing that whistle???" I shouted, thinking it was one of the two older kids.
"MEEE!!!" called a little voice, and a cheeky little face peered around Dash's bedroom door. I was so surprised, all I could do was laugh, so of course he joined in the giggling, knowing he was cute'n'clever... and then carried on blowing that darn whistle.

A few weeks ago, we sat down together one morning with a cup of tea (me) and a Milo (him); a plate of cookies between us.
He was sitting at the table with me, like a big boy, rather than in his highchair, and it seemed so very civilised to be sitting there drinking our drinks together.
To be funny I said, "So, how is your day going, Scrag??"
Knock me over with a feather when he replied: "Goood!"

Smart little cookie. I better go rescue him from his cot (which probably looks like this by now). Guess there won't be any nap for him today. Sigh. He's growing up.

Of Tempers, Tickets and Tests

I think I'm a reasonably good driver. I've never had a car accident (er, apart from the odd bumper crunch and scrape...); I try to be considerate, I use my indicator and pull over well before turning to enable traffic behind me to keep flowing. Not everyone is as a good a driver as me though (oops, did I say that out loud?)
Almost every time I get in the car I seem to come across people who would be better off riding a bike, so poor is their command of a motor vehicle, so lacking in consideration for other drivers are they.

Which brings me to the beginning point of my story. It's a woeful tale. I'm almost ashamed to tell it. But I think I will, for the sake of transparency and perhaps for  bit of a wry laugh and shake of the head: "There but for the absence of a traffic cop go I..."

My Tale begins with a Task: Take the family car in for it's WOF (hubby usually does it but this time he asked me to).

It runs out tomorrow, so it must be done today... can you do that, wifey???
Affirmative.
Are you sure???
Why dost thou doubt me, good sir?

The plan was take the car to the Testing Station in the morning. Oh, but the morning was so cold!!! And then my little Scraggadag wanted a nap (and it was so warm and cosy in the house) and so I did what all dyed-in-the-wool procrastinators do when faced with a bleak task on a cold day: I procrastinated.

My txt message read: Scrag sleepng will do WOF 2moro

Forget it. Hubby gets on the phone and insists that the WOF must be done today. Must. Be. Done. Take the car in before school finishes, when Scrag wakes up.

But Scrag didn't wake up in time. So I head off to school thinking, "I'll pick up Miss Fab from the Walking Bus and take the car in for the WOF while Dash & Coach Dad are at soccer practise..."

Problem. Miss Fab is Not on the Walking Bus. Grrrrr. Inwardly I start to rumble.

Sure enough there she is at school on the monkey bars; she decided not to come on the walking bus but to hang around and play while daddy takes his team for training. Grrrrrr. There are a few sharp words as we drive off... and run smack bang into The Worst Driver I have ever had the displeasure to drive behind. Not literally of course. There was no actually smacking or crashing involved.

Just lots of frustration as the Worlds Worst Driver ambled along in the middle of the road... then STOPPED. In the middle of the road. No indication... then  turned right veeeeery slowly from the middle of the road. Did I mention no indication??
I flash my lights, toot my horn and shout, "Get a license!" (as if they can hear me)
I can feel the blood pressure rising. Calm, down girl, your daughter is watching your every move!

"Sorry, AbFab, " I say, "Mummy shouldn't have shouted like that..."

Don't speak too soon Simoney. Because you are about to meet a carload of the Worlds Worst Driver's Cousins. Oh yes. Driving along at 20km per hour. They pause in the middle of the road... then move ahead slowly... then pause... then move ahead slowly... then STOP!! What is it with people stopping in the middle of the road...? Finally they turn left (without indicating) and I plant my foot and accelerate at last, as I fling insults over my shoulder... "Where did you learnt to drive?? Useless, hopeless, idiots..."

Then as if in slow motion I see the man in blue, pointing something at me... its a...a... a speed camera??? Oh no - he's waving me over! A wave of shock hits me as I pull over and wind down the window.
Barely able to gasp out my address, my shaking fingers fumble for my license and I slump over my steering wheel as the Officer writes out my ticket. Did you know what speed you were travelling at? 61km. And you have children in the car...

As I begin to weep hot shameful tears, he says: "Don't cry, it's only a speeding ticket!"
At this my shoulders start to shake and heave and the Officer begins to doubt my ability to drive safely.
He suggests I forget the WOF and head back home. I follow his orders, sniffling all the way.

Back home, after growling at Miss Fab and making her cry too, we miserably head for our separate rooms to await Daddy's return. Guilt-ridden, I apologise for growling, and she forgives me. We snuggle on the sofa until the soccer boys return and I have to pour out my tale of woe and my failure to achieve my Task (and of course the dreaded traffic fine)

Thankfully Mr G does not recriminate, does not lecture or nag. He hugs me, and said, you tried, you're just terribly disorganised! I promise to take the car in first thing tomorrow.

Today I finally made it, the car passed its WOF and I managed to stay calm the whole way. Miss Fab had a doctors' appointment so she wasn't in school. As we drove she laid her hand gently on my shoulder and said, "Now mummy, this time if you meet any bad drivers, just take a deep breath and don't get upset, OK?"
OK.

Waiting for the paperwork at the Testing Station, my kids were singing and laughing together. The lady behind the desk remarked, "Lovely kids you have. Hearing their happy voices just made my day."
Ohhh, what a nice warm fuzzy! And that is where I should have left this post...

Except that we also popped in to a fruit shop where I came across the rudest meanest old lady I have ever laid eyes on. I was lined up in the wrong place but she saw me waiting there long before she stepped up, and just put her stuff on the counter ahead of me anyway.
WELL!

I said, "Excuse me but I was next, I just wasn't sure where to line up!"
"For your information you are meant to line up on this side!" she flung at me.
I couldn't help myself. I couldn't, gentle reader!
Before I knew what was happening, I had blurted sarcastically, "Oh thankyou! That's so kind of you to tell me! You are obviously a very kind person! Actually you saw me waiting here for ages, and you knew I was there and you just pushed in!"

Sigh. I guess I have a way to go with my temper.

PS: The Pictures of Miss Fab sleeping have absolutely nothing to do with the story. I just liked them. Doesn't she look peaceful??

Devonshire Teas (Cream & Jam Scones)

Whip up a batch of these scones for a special morning or afternoon tea. This English specialty is a favourite in our family, and is usually accompanied by great conversation and our very best manners.

INGREDIENTS

3 cups Plain flour

6 teaspoons Baking Powder

1/4 teaspoon salt

125g butter {online measurement converter}

1 cup of milk, approximately

METHOD

• Sift the flour, baking powder and salt into a bowl.
• Rub in the butter until it resembles fine breadcrumbs.
• Add the milk and mix quickly with your hands; once mixed, knead a little bit.
• Press flat until about 2cm thick. Cut out circles with a glass. Place circles of scone dough onto a floured oven tray (or baking papered).
• Brush the tops with a little extra milk (to make them shiny).
• Bake at 220°c for 10 minutes or until golden brown.

Makes around 12 delicious light'n'fluffy scones.

Serve on your best china, with strawberry jam and whipped cream, and a pot of English Tea.

Simply scrumptious, dahling!

Variation: Add a cup of chopped dates or sultanas into the dry ingredients along with a tablespoon of sugar for a sweeter, more elegant (more delicious) scone.

(Beautiful photographs of our morning tea taken by my friend Meg)

Loving, NOT Loving: At My House...

Loving the Weather... and the Garden...
It's meant to be Winter here in New Zealand. Ha!  It feels more like spring. We have showery patches, rainbows and sunshine, rainstorms and thunder all in one day. Occasionally the temperature drops and we need to light the fire and snuggle under rugs, sipping tea and listening to the rain. But it's hardly what you'd call wintery, most days.

My garden is confused, so warm is it still.

The Hibiscus thinks it's still summer. The jonquils think it's already spring. Only my poor neglected roses seem to have gotten the message, and stand bare waiting patiently to be pruned.

The rain has worked wonders for my poor dead herb garden. Did I mention that I killed it off in summer by forgetting to water it? I am a gardening saddo. Poor herbies.

They all withered and died: the coriander, the mint, the basil and the chives. But wait... some warm showery weather (which is meant to be winter but isn't really)... and my herb garden has come back to life, all by itself. A miracle! Gotta love that miracle of life.

Loving Home-Made Art
Who needs mass-produced printed art when you have kids who can draw and paint (and do mosaics)??

What better to decorate your walls with than photographs and paintings done by dear friends. I walk around the house and feel the love, enjoy the colour. I feel good knowing that nobody else has art like mine - they are all original and special.

(The framed photo on the left was sent to me by the lovely Cat from Canada; I have another one from her above my computer xxx)

Loving 60-Minute Makeover
I love my DIY programmes and (surprisingly!) so do my kids! There's a British programme which comes on every weekday called 60-Minute Makeover and the kids beg me to let them watch it with me (even the boy!!) Hee hee, love it! We snuggle together and rate the designers, rate their designs, guess whether they'll get all four rooms done in sixty minutes...

Dash sneaks out of bed and comes to cuddle on the couch and watch with me...

I hear Miss Fab in her bedroom moving furniture and blowing the whistle... she writes out a "KEEP ME" sticker and attaches it to her art...

It's given me a great idea for her birthday present.

She's turning six and no longer played with her lilac dolls crib, her candy-red highchair, her giant dolls pram. So last week we gave them away to some friends with young daughters to make space for.... a desk (solid mahogany bought online for $50) Then we'll combine it with... A gorgeous new quilt set (at 50% off!) ...repainted bookshelves, new storage for the dressups... maybe a feature wall??? I am thinking of painting her a Mural on one wall. Maybe with magnetic paint underneath... Haha! I'll let you know how I get on with that one...

A big girls bedroom, with space for creating. Our very own 60-Minute Makeover, just in time for a Rather Fancy Sleepover. Dunno if we'll get it done in 60 Minutes, but we'll have fun doing it :)

Loving Pretty Old Things
My Nana had a stack of old cut glass dishes and retro china. I never realised how gorgeous it all was at the time, and none of it came our way when she passed. Lately I've been grabbing little bits of old glass and china whenever I spot a bargain in the Thrift Shops. This my latest find; it looks so pretty on my dresser with old beads and bits in it.

Here's some embroidery done by my great-grandmother and framed by me. And my china collection... which gets pulled out regularly for afterschool-tea-parties.

My favourite saying: "Don't save the good china for a special occasion; make today a special occasion by using the good china!" Love that saying.

Not Loving: Reality
Dishes piled up, crumbs on the floor, piles of laundry waiting to be done. Sigh. Better get to it.

What are you loving/NOT loving lately??